Quinntana Shorts
by dance-tilyou'redead
Summary: Short spurts of imagined Quinntana times.
1. Chapter 1

Yeah, jealousies are a bitch.

I know that I shouldn't be jealous but at the same time I feel utterly fucking justified. Quinn and I have been dating for six months now and yet she still seems to be obsessing over Rachel freaking Berry.

I mean come on, the woman is practically freaking married.

And here I am, ready and willing to make Quinn's every dream come true. Quinn is my world, my goddess, my Aphrodite and yet...

It's all I can do to keep her attention directed towards me.

I can't help but make small comparisons to my relationship with Brittany. I know it's wrong but whatever. I can't help where my thoughts drift. I'm not freakin Ghandi. Sometimes my mind makes its own comparison's between how Quinn treats me to how Britt used to treat me. Sure, Britt wasn't always necessarily _there_ for me but she was always _there_ when we were together.

One on one she would look at me like I was her entire _world_. When we would braid each other's hair and paint each other's nails she would stop to look in my eyes like...wow, she didn't know how she got so lucky in being with _me_. And it was so easy for me to look at her like she was the most precious person in the world and like I would never _ever_ tire of looking at her face.

Now Quinn. Quinn is an entirely different person to be around. She challenges me, infuriates me and then makes me love her like I can't ever love anything else.

She looks at me like she can't be any more disappointed in me and then the very next second it will be like she has never seen anyone quite so perfect in the world.

For my part, I always look at her like she's a little bit crazy and a little bit perfect. I can't tell you what that looks like exactly but that is what I feel. When we talk politics and history; when we talk sex and alcohol; when we skip talking and go straight to fucking, I feel like Quinn is the only person on this earth I could be with.

But then she gets this look in her eye when she talks about Rachel freaking Berry that just makes my blood run to ice in my veins. I want to punch the little Smurf in the face and the punch her again for even _looking_ at my girlfriend.

I still don't know how we've ended up spending so much time together, the three of us. I never figured that when Quinn transferred to NYU that I would be getting facetime with the illustrious Rachel Berry. I mean, I figured that Rachel would be way too busy singing or dancing or whatever the fuck she does at NYADA to be spending time with her fellow Lima expatriates. It never occurred to me to think that I would be dragged out to sing karaoke with Rachel Berry. Every. Fucking. Weekend.


	2. Serial Killer prompt

AN: Quinntana Week 2013 Day 2 Prompt. Serial Killer. This was fun

* * *

Santana Lopez kneels down in the dust next to the victim's left hand. He looks familiar in the pretty-sure-he's-a-bad-guy way. He dresses like a teacher but is built like an out of shape line backer. The flash of the CSI photographer's camera catches the light of a championship ring and Santana thinks she knows exactly who he is.

She hears her partner Puckerman's boots behind her and she glances back to see him rifling through a wallet.

"Hudson," he reads out slowly from the victims ID. "Finn Hudson from—"

"Yeah I know who he is," Santana interrupts.

She was in Special Victims when the call came in. This asshole had beaten his wife half to death. Rachel Berry, future star of broadway is still in physical therapy and rumored to have a drug dependency. Finn Hudson just signed a 4million dollar deal with some new football team as assistant coach. Typical big man on campus gets away with attempted murder and who knows what else.

Until now.

Santana already knows who did this but she still asks. "Any calling card?"

She stands up, gesturing for the coroner's boys to take the body to the morgue for Pierce to look over. Puck hands over the actual card, carefully sealed up as evidence. Quinn is such a sucker for stereotypes. Santana turns over the simple playing card, unable to keep the smirk from her face when she sees the queen of hearts with a perfect little dagger scratched into the queens red robes.

Q&S

Quinn watches Lopez work. Okay, she watches Lopez's ass which happens to be a part of the body which is moving through the crime scene—her crime scene—like a shapely ode to death. Quinn enjoys the show, always proud to see the final pieces falling into place. Santana has already figured it out. Puckerman handing over the playing card is just the confirmation of everything Santana already knew. She knows how Quinn works.

Quinn has told her as much. In one way or another.

Santana may not approve of her methods but she understands and appreciates the efficiency, the effectiveness of them. Quinn only takes the bad ones. The ones that the court can't or won't punish; Quinn makes them pay. If she gets a special kind of satisfaction out of her work, then that just means she got it right. She figures that's how nature works. Quinn is restoring the natural order of things when monsters like Hudson fall under her knife. The little starlet Berry didn't deserve to be made a victim. She didn't deserve the violence. Hudson liked violence so much Quinn was just giving him what he wanted.

Quinn steps back into the shadows on the rooftop when Jake and Ryder shift Finn into the extra large black bag and onto the gurney. Her performance for tonight is over. She doesn't need to take any ovation. She won't be making any encore performances.

Unless she really needs to.

Q&S

Santana saw the shadow move when Hudson was zipped away. She new immediately who was casting it. There was maybe a ten second gap between seeing it and picking the lock on the door of the building she knew the shadow was cast from. What? Santana appreciates efficiency. And she doesn't want to miss this chance. Finn's body was still warm and Santana has never seen Quinn so soon after a kill. She has no doubt the woman will be a spectacle. She just doesn't know what kind.

She rushes up the four flights of stairs and pushes open the fire escape. It's an ordinary concrete rooftop but Santana knows something—someone extraordinary will now be waiting for her.

"Are you never afraid of anything Lopez?" Quinn's husky voice seems to caress Santana's very soul.

"What could I be afraid of?" Santana asks.

She strains her hearing, leaning in the direction she thinks Quinn's voice is coming from. It is hard to tell with the slight echo caused by the surrounding concrete.

"Coming alone. To the place you knew the...killer waits." Quinn purrs over the word 'killer'.

Santana shivers. "But I know your MO Quinn. I don't fit in at all." She injects more confidence than she feels into her voice.

Santana walks slowly, turning to search every dark corner of the rooftop. She stops in the brightest pool of light and waits.

Quinn doesn't disappoint.

A hand drifts down Santana's arm to grab at her wrist and then another arm wraps over Santana's shoulders pulling her into a restraining hold. Quinn pushes her front up against Santana's back and whispers into her ear.

"But I'm a psycho. How can you possibly think you understand..." Quinn's lips brush over Santana's ear. "Anything about what I would or wouldn't do."

Santana can't fight the smirk that still pulls at her lips. "Oh you'd be amazed."

Quinn's hold loosens and Santana takes advantage, spinning in the other woman's arms until they'r facing one another. She lifts her hands to Quinn's face, not to remove the half mask there but to pull her into a searing kiss.

Quinn's hands have drifted down to Santana's hips to grip and twist the fabric of her shirt long before they pull back. Santana is breathing hard but then so is Quinn. Santana holds Quinn's face in her palms and searches her eyes. Knowing what Quinn did, Santana should be repulsed, horrified.

She's intrigued.

Maybe a little turned on. Not by murder or death. That would be pretty sick. No, what gets her is that this woman can take charge of her world. Quinn takes over what the law fails to accomplish and she's a bitch that gets shit done. Santana stares intently into her eyes, holding her to stop Quinn from turning away. She searches those hazel eyes for something that can explain the things she does. Quinn allows the inspection, searching Santana just as thoroughly.

They're smiles grow as they both see something in each other. Something that matches; that makes them two halves of a whole. It's the same something which brings them together now; that will inevitably lead Quinn to knock on Santana's bedroom window; and compel Santana to let her in.

Later they will come together to indulge every fleshly urge they could sate in each other. For now they just smile. On the edge of a crime scene. And wonder how they ever found each other.

Another flash from the Crime Scene Photographer draws their attention and Quinn is the first to walk away. She stalks to the furthest edge of the roof, moving like a shadow. She jumps out into nothing and Santana rushes over to see Quinn grab at the rail of the fire escape on the building opposite. She swings herself onto it, agile and seemingly uncaring of her own safety.

Santana doesn't call out to her and Quinn doesn't look back. They both know they'll be seeing each other again soon.


End file.
